If Grief Had a Door

If grief had a door, I would have locked it.

Thrown away the key. Moved to another city.

But grief does not wait outside.

It learns the shape of the house. It sits in familiar chairs. It knows which song to play.

So I stopped trying to evict it.

Now I let it enter. I listen. I cry.

And when it has finished speaking, I open another door and walk back into my life.